Bruises
by HawthornSword
Summary: Not all of Wash's memories were always his own, but he's made them his. After Locus takes them down, Wash has a lot of bruises. They are the colors of his memories. There is a doctor here. She is not one of his memories. She says that says he will heal with time. He's not sure if she's talking about the bruises or the memories. (Not exactly spoilers, but watch 12x9, 12x10 first.)


**Just a quick thing I whipped up this morning after watching last night's episode. The idea has been percolating a while, but came to fruition after Wash and Emily called out for each other in the episode. Let's get inside our boy's head for a while, shall we?**

Tucker, Simmons, and Grif are talking as they try to set up a make shift base after the crash. They're talking about girls. There had been some cute ones on the ship, like the pilot Tucker had been flirting with, but they're dead now. Simmons is mourning another missed chance to speak to women while Tucker mourns the loss of "dat ass."

Wash likes girls. He always has. He guesses his reaction to them was always somewhere in between Tucker's and Simmons's. On the one hand, he ardently admires the female form. On the other, he's always been a bit bumbling and awkward talking to women...or about most anything that didn't involve combat, really. He's always been the geek. In Freelancer though, he didn't have much trouble around the women. He guessed it was because they were all there for the same reason, had the same interests: war. He automatically respected those women and they him, because they wouldn't have been there if they couldn't hack it. They were a team and, once upon a time, his team was his family, his everything. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't at least a little in love with every single one of those women: South, Connie, Four-Seven-Niner...Carolina.

He watched her now, the way she moved, the way she commanded, the way she was beautiful and deadly, cold and calculating, yet if you caught her at the right moment, she was the warmest and most sincere of people. He had loved her once. More than the school boyish crush he'd had on South, the brotherly affection for Four-Seven, the die-hard friendship with Connie. He'd looked up to Carolina, respected her as a leader, but he'd also loved her. He'd have died for her, followed her anywhere. He had distanced himself a bit once she was with York. He'd respected that they were good together. Really good. But he admitted to himself that he pined for her.

And then Texas showed up. He watched them interact, compete, fight. He wondered if he was the only one who saw how similar they actually were. He honestly expected them to really have it out one day, or maybe they'd save each other's life on a mission, and then be best friends. But it didn't go down that way, did it? If he'd been watching more than just Carolina, maybe he would have seen. Seen how Connie drew further and further away. Seen how Maine did the same. Seen how much pain North and South were in, when the Director kept pushing, pushing them apart. Seen how the Director became more and more solely focused on Tex. Seen how the Director was always the one that authorized the things that caused the whole damn world to fall apart.

When they gave him Epsilon, it was like his whole world shattered into a billion pieces and then reformed, with a new anchor at the center. It wasn't just that Epsilon had tried to kill himself in Wash's head, and revealed all the Director's dirty secrets. That wasn't what broke him. Death and despair: a friend's, a partner's, his own, even betrayal. He had experienced all these sensations before. That was war. That was what he had trained for – was made for. But when Agent Washington woke after they took what was left of Epsilon out of his head, there was only one thing on his mind.

Allison.

He could only think, eat, drink, sleep, breathe, Allison. He needed her. He had to find her, to save her, to fix her, to be with her, to love her. He was Epsilon now, all that was left of him, he thought, and Epsilon remembered Allison. Loved Allison. That was all he knew for a long while.

Eventually, he could push Allison to the back of his mind. He could think and judge rationally what had happened to him. He could plan his revenge on the Director for ruining his life, for destroying his family, for breaking him. But she was still there, in that little corner of his mind that he had made for her. And he loved her more than anything.

When he went to capture Tex, or Epsilon Tex rather, he knew that the Director had made her to be Allison, but he also knew that she wasn't a true copy. She was just a memory. And Wash thought he already controlled that memory. After all, Epsilon had rewritten his mind. Epsilon-Tex was there when he did it. He had already faced this demon, he thought. But when the Meta went after her...he couldn't control his emotions. He panicked, got sloppy, begged the Meta not to hurt her, watched what he could only describe as her death. It was losing her all over again. He could not find the strength to go on, to fight anymore. Not when the Meta had finally consumed and destroyed literally everything he loved.

He thought he would die there, the last of the Freelancers. But Doc, with all his annoying incessant persistent helpfulness, refused to let him. He actually saved someone. From all he eventually learned about Doc's incompetence from the Reds and Blues, he decided it was fate. The Universe wasn't ready to let him die yet. It was the only logical conclusion. He still wasn't sure why.

And then, Carolina came back. She wanted to kill the Director. She wanted the same thing he did. She was his boss, his leader, his family, all he had left. Right? Something must have happened there on that icy cliff. Maybe he did die. Agent Washington died. David died. All that was left was Wash. Just Wash. Not a Freelancer. The new guy on blue team. That was what he thought at first, when he didn't blindly follow Carolina anymore. When a band of ragtag misfit idiots sort of stole his heart the same way his Freelancer team originally had so long ago. But he couldn't let her go alone. He couldn't let Epsilon go alone. They were still family, more than they knew. So he helped finish it. And then they were going home. All of them together.

But Wash watched Carolina now and he knew. He knew there was only one reason why he wasn't in love with her anymore. It was because of who he was now – this strange hybrid of memories both his and not, and the new memories made from the combination.

He wasn't Epsilon, but because of Epsilon, Wash was in love with Allison.

It would always be Allison.

Always.

And watching Carolina now – how she moved like her sometimes, how the curve of her face was the same, and that little smirk she got sometimes, and that warmth that you could find beneath the terrifying soldier's exterior, and the instinctual need to protect, and the sense of humor, the casual exterior when in extreme danger, and the fact that she dyed her blonde hair red because she thought it was more intimidating. A million little things about Carolina added up to remind Wash of Allison. Carolina was her mother's daughter.

But she wasn't Allison.

And it would be weird, and wrong, and...if Carolina found out...and if Epsilon found out...

No.

Wash turned away, stopped watching Carolina. They had each other's backs. They were a team. They were family. But that was all. Perhaps in some other reality, Wash and Carolina had been together all along. Perhaps in some other reality, when she got over York someday Carolina would actually show interest and Wash would tell himself he was happy with the woman who was the daughter of the shadow he loved. But not here. Not now. He felt it would be betraying both of them. He would rather be with no one, than Carolina be again stuck as a placeholder for Allison in anyone's mind, especially his. And since Wash had loved Carolina for real once, and because of all they had been through together, he respected her far more than that.

He resigns himself to the fact that he will never have a fairy tale romantic ending like the ones he secretly loved his sisters reading to him when he was a little boy. Wash fell into his old habit of calling Carolina "boss" and keeping a safe distance. After a few weeks, she and Epsilon leave the crash site without saying goodbye. He has mixed feelings about it. A few weeks after that, all hell breaks loose between the Feds, the New Republic, and two highly suspicious mercenaries.

He almost dies. Again. He hears a voice, desperately calling him, telling him to hang on, don't you dare die on me. Sees a flash of purple armor. He's back on the icy cliff, Doc begging him to stay conscious. No, it's too hot here, wet, green. He is alive. He remembers what happened.

There's a man with a funny sounding accent that sort of reminds him of Wyoming at first, but then really decidedly doesn't, trying to explain things. Everything is confusing. Then, he hears that voice again, from what he now thought was a dream. The odd general introduces the doctor in white and purple armor. The one that saved his life.

Wash is introduced to Doctor Emily Grey.

She tells him to report to her at 0800. When he does, she makes a comment about him being black and blue with bruises. He lets out a sardonic chuckle at the bleak reminder. She assures him that he will heal well with a bit of time. After a few weeks, he smiles whenever he sees Doctor Grey coming his way.

She is nothing like Allison.


End file.
